by J P Books
I betcha Ted Bundy told his victims to trust him too, I mutter inside my head as I try to drum up the courage to follow him onto the bike. With no fucking helmet.
Trying to look more confident than I feel, I grab my purse and I sit down behind him. “Um…” I look around me, wondering what I was supposed to hold onto. I look at the black leather jacket covering a broad, very sturdy looking back.
“What should I hold onto?” I ask.
I hear the gruff guy make a noise that sounds suspiciously like laughter, choked off.
“Hold onto me,” comes the answer from in front.
Right. Hold onto him. This is just getting better and better.
Shyly, I put my hands on his waist, not wanting to get in his way, but all of a sudden wondering how I’m going to hold on to a total stranger for dear life while still pretending to be all cool and collected and confident.
I feel him chuckle and he reaches down to pull my hands in front of him, surrounding his waist and pulling my chest against his back. “You’re going to want to hold on tight,” he says.
Grasping my hands together in front of him, I give a nervous little squeeze as he starts up the bike. The rumble vibrating between my thighs makes me jump a little, but – I have to admit – it’s not exactly unpleasant.
When the bike starts to move though, my heart leaps into my throat. I flatten my face against the man’s jacket, squeezing my eyes shut and forgetting to breathe. Oh yeah, and probably crushing the life out of the guy driving the bike.
After a few minutes, I crack open my eyes. The desert is whizzing by, but miraculously I’m still sitting firmly in my appointed position. Oddly enough, I actually feel fairly steady, despite the fact that there’s nothing between me and the seriously fast moving road but air.
I watch the world go by for another moment.
Eventually, I feel confident enough to pull back, just a little bit, from my chauffeur. He makes a little movement of his shoulders, probably happy to have me peel off of him and give him some breathing room.
When I don’t get ripped off the bike and thrown to my immediate death, I get a little more confident and sit up a little straighter. The wind blows through my hair and I feel a bubble of laughter break through the terror in my chest.
The road is straight, which is a blessing, and we’re careening down it as if nothing could stop us. My hair whips and blows around my face and the bubble turns into a burst and I find myself laughing out loud.
My arms are still wrapped around the man in front of me, but loosely now. My hands, instead of holding a death grip on my own elbows, discover that his jacket is open and they’re now resting against a muscular chest.
My eyes widen with the shock of this realization and I blush with embarrassment. I quickly realize he can’t see me, and he’s the one who put my hands around him in the first place, so he probably doesn’t mind if I touch him. He doesn’t have to know what my fingers and palms are feeling. Which are tingles, the more I think about it.
For a second, I can’t focus on anything but the feel of his cotton t-shirt. I’m willing my hands not to move. The more I think about it, the harder it gets, and I can feel him flexing his stomach under my touch. I’m probably imagining it…there’s no way he can tell what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling.
Suddenly, the bike tips to one side. I whoop and smash myself against his back once more, reinstating my death grip. This time I know I feel him flex and laugh at me.
We had turned no more than one degree, I’m sure, and when I realize it, I laugh at myself too. He quickly and softly pats my arm and I start to relax again, but I don’t move back this time. I lay my head against his back and loosen my grip, but keep my arms around him enjoying the solidity.
I take a deep breath, feeling the hot air burn through my chest and rake its way through my hair at the same time. We take another very slight turn and this time, being already tightly pressed against him, instead of squeezing him to death, I keep my chest against his back and follow his body as he told me to.
The bubble of laughter returns and my face breaks into a grin. I’m starting to understand why so many people love to ride motorcycles. If you don’t look down at the ground racing, if you look instead at the sky or the horizon, it really does feel like you’re flying.
It’s a little bit amazing.
By the time we take any real turns, I feel as in tune with the body in front of me as my own, and I let myself be guided by his movements.
When my heart pounds in my chest, it is from a fear of exhilaration, not a feeling of imminent disaster.
I start seeing more and more houses, and then businesses and I know we’ve arrived in town. I’m still reeling from the fact that not only did I not die, but I feel more alive than I can remember feeling in a long time.
The bike slows down to a crawl and turns into a garage. The slowing of my heart is more than just a return to calm; it’s disappointment that the ride is over. I cannot believe what I’m feeling.
When the bike stops properly and his feet hit the ground, I reluctantly retract my arms and find the ground with my own feet, getting off the bike.
I turn to him, grinning. “Thank you,” I say. “That was a hell of a lot more fun that I was expecting it to be.”
He chuckles and nods his head, getting off his bike. He pulls off his helmet and looks me directly in the eye as he says, “You’re welcome.”
I feel a weird flutter in my chest, and I remember that feeling of trust that came over me just before I had gotten on the bike in the first place. He’s got a trustworthy face, I decide.
The other man had pulled up beside us and was now getting off his bike too. Giving me an appraising look, he says, “I’ll go talk to Jack about your car,” and then heads inside to the garage.
It’s only when I feel the anxiety and pressure of reality coming back that I realize I had let it go for a short while, on the ride here. Surprised at myself, I feel a new sadness. Sad that I can’t live in that feeling of freedom forever. Sad that I suddenly feel eyes on me again.
If only Matt could have seen me flying down that road, pressed against another man. Laughing.
Then I shudder, remembering that if he had seen that, he’d probably try to kill me. And the two men who rescued me.
Shaking my head to throw those thoughts aside for the time being, I bring my eyes back to the man on the motorcycle. He’s watching me intently and I feel my face start to burn in a blush.
Somehow, my flaming cheeks remind me of my hands pressed against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, feeling the hardness of his abs underneath. My cheeks get hotter.
His eyebrow raises as if he can sense my change in thoughts, and I see a little smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Suddenly I realize we’ve been standing in silence for a while, and I blurt out, without thinking, “I just can’t thank you guys enough. You really rescued me back there.”
Smiling more broadly now, he answers, “What kind of men would we be, if we had left such a fair damsel in distress?”
It was such an old-timey sentiment, coming out of the mouth of this leather-clad biker, and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.
Just as I was about to say something clever and witty, the other man stomped back towards us.
“The guys made it to your car and called in. The engine is shot. They can fix it, but it’ll take some parts. If they can find them, it’ll be ready tomorrow. If they have to order them, it might be a couple of days.”
My face falls as the news sink in. Days. I could be here for days. And it would probably cost me a fortune. A fortune I don’t have.
Determined not to let these men feel the burden of my sad and pathetic life, I muster up a smile. I pointedly make eye contact with them both and thank them again. My heart is racing and I realize I don’t want to say goodbye to the man who I’ve had my arms wrapped around for the last hour. I swear, looking into his eyes, he
feels the same way.
Grabbing hold of every ounce of courage I have left inside me, I breathe out and let loose a stream of rapid-fire words. “Would you guys let me treat you to a coffee? It’s the least I can do to say thank you and I really appreciate all your help.”
It comes out in a blur and I have to slam my mouth shut to stop the blabbering even more.
The gruff man gives me a confused, almost suspicious look. My rider laughs. My face resumes its burning.
“I guess you better get back on the bike then,” he says and pats the seat of his bike.
CHAPTER 5
Adam
I pull into the café before the other two and park, wondering where this is going to lead us. White fucking knight Parker has his suit of armor on again, that much is clear.
I guess I can’t blame him. The girl is clearly running from something.
I shake my head as I realize we don’t even know her name yet. Watching them pull in I notice her casual grip on him and the smile on her face. The ride into town has done her good at least.
After our years serving together, I can read Parker’s face like a book. When he takes off his helmet I’m expecting to see his “active duty” face. I raise my eyebrow when instead, what I see is a mixture of protectiveness and prowl. Interesting.
He catches me watching him and shrugs with a helpless grin. He’s hooked. Great.
She hops off the bike enthusiastically grinning at him. Apparently, his charms have started to thaw her nerves.
Sighing and shaking my head, I head to the door, holding it open for the two of them.
Parker signals “three” to the hostess and she leads us to a table, coffee pot in hand.
We all settle in and I, for one, am all sorts of grateful for the thick, strong steaming brew. Something tells me whatever is coming next is going to require my active attention.
After we all thank the server for the coffee, a silence falls over the table. Clearing my throat, I figure I may as well start the conversation.
“I’m Adam, by the way.”
“Oh my goodness! I can’t believe I haven’t even introduced myself – I’m so sorry! I’ve been a bit out of it today,” she says, looking embarrassed. “I’m, um…”
I tilt my head, waiting. What is this girl hiding?
“Alexa,” she finishes. “My friends call me Lex.” She’s smiling and, even though people telling the truth don’t usually have trouble remembering their name, I believe her.
“Parker,” his voice cuts in and claims her attention. His answering smile seems to reassure her. “It’s nice to meet you. So – what brings you to New Mexico?” he asks it casually, but I can hear the edge in his voice. He knows she’s not going to want to answer, but he’s prying anyways.
I watch her face for clues. As expected, it closes off immediately. Her eyes dart towards the door – making sure she can escape, or keeping an eye on who comes in, I wonder.
“Oh, just had some time off work and thought I’d see some of the country. I’ve never really been out this direction. Um, my family is from Utah. The mountainous part of Utah – I guess I wasn’t really thinking to prepare for the desert.”
Again, I don’t get the feeling that she’s lying exactly, but she’s not telling the whole truth.
“What about you guys?” She continues, “Did you grow up around here?”
Parker takes over the conversation, telling her stories about how we met and where we served. He can read body language like nobody’s business, but I’m the facial expert. I watch her reactions and keep looking for cues.
Every time he spins the conversation back to her, she gives a vague response and digs deeper into our stories instead. She doesn’t want to talk about herself and she’s good at evading answers.
She seems to be honest though and is genuinely interested in Parker. But every time the door to the café opens, a flash of fear crosses her face to be replaced by relief when she confirms that whoever has just walked in isn’t someone she recognizes.
Running from someone, then.
At one point, the door opens and a tall man with dark hair walks through the door. The fear lasts longer on her face and the relief is much more pronounced when it finally shows up.
Parker sees it too. Running from an ex, probably.
“You’re brave to be traveling solo,” he says. “You didn’t have a boyfriend or some girlfriends that wanted to explore the desert with you?” He’s prying again. It’s not overly subtle, but she’s too wound up to tell the difference anyway.
“Um…no…um,” her neck swivels around, looking for someone or something. “Sorry – do you know where the restroom is?”
I nod towards the back and she beats a hasty retreat.
Parker looks at me. “She’s running from someone,” he says as soon as she’s out of earshot.
I nod, agreeing. We’ve both seen these signs before, sometimes in the faces of the clients who hire us and, before that, in the refugees fleeing from their countries. The look of the hunted.
“She’s not a client, Parker,” I remind him. “She might not want our help.”
His eyes are bright and I can tell he’s not going to give up easily. “All we can do is offer.”
I don’t want him to get his hopes up.
My phone starts ringing as we see her heading back towards us. I check the caller ID. It’s the garage.
I don’t bother leaving the table, I know she’s going to want to hear whatever Jack has to say. I answer just as she sits back down.
“Hey Jack, what’s the news?”
Her eyes watch me intently as I get the details of her car. It’s not looking good. They had to order the parts and it wouldn’t be ready for a few days, three or four at least.
I watch her face fall as she follows the conversation. Her anxiety is almost palpable.
I try to break the news to her gently. “Jack has the parts on order. He says it’ll be three or four days and he’ll call me as soon as it’s ready.”
“Oh,” she says meekly. “Ok, thank you. You’ve been so helpful. Um…I saw a hotel across the road from the garage. I can try to get a room there and then they won’t have to bother you. You’ve both been so helpful, I can’t thank you enough.”
She looks like she’s fighting tears and won’t make eye contact with either Parker or me. If I had to guess, she’s left her home in a hurry with very little money. If she’s anything like some of the other clients’ we’ve helped in the past, she’s not going to want to use her credit cards either.
I can feel Parker’s eyes boring into me, pleading with me to do something. I look at him pointedly – what the fuck do you want me to do? I furrow my brows at him.
Resigned, he shrugs. “Come on then,” he stands up and says with forced cheerfulness. “One last ride for you. We’ll take you there and make sure you’re settled. I’m sure you’re exhausted after driving all night.”
She nods, looking like a brave little puppy.
We all pile out of the café and get back on the bikes to head to the hotel. I beckon Parker over to me. “Take your time,” I tell him. “Let me get there first. I’ll book the room and say it’s comped through work or something.”
He grins and thumps me on the back.
I start up my bike and watch him show her something about his, teasing her and stalling. I give him a wave and take off towards the hotel.
By the time they arrive, I’ve been told that there are absolutely no rooms available, not in this hotel or the three sister hotels nearby. We can check back tomorrow.
None of us were prepared for this. Parker’s looking at me frantically and Alexa’s brave puppy act is quickly turning into a-tail-between-her-legs panic.
I can’t leave her. I may not be smitten like Parker, but I’m still fucking human.
“I have an extra bedroom,” I offer. “It’s not exactly a three-star hotel like this dump, but it’s got a bed and y
ou’re welcome to it. I promise – no bed bugs.”
Her head snaps up and I can see her fighting tears again. Relief I could understand, but this emotional of response is heartbreaking to watch. And it’s painfully obvious that she doesn’t want us to see it.
“Oh, I couldn’t…” she starts. “You’ve both been so helpful already, I couldn’t possibly expect you to let me stay with you.” The hope in her voice says exactly the opposite of her words.
“Of course you can!” Parker answers her. “Adam’s place is actually really nice, you’ll love it.” Without waiting for her to protest again, he hops back onto his bike and tucks his hair into his helmet, patting the seat behind him.
She turns her big brown eyes on me and I nod, heading towards my bike as well. I guess that’s settled then.
The three of us head down the road again.
CHAPTER 6
Parker
In my head, I thank Adam every second of our short ride home. And it’s not just because Alexa’s fingers have started doing a little dance on my abs as she pretends to readjust behind me on the bike.
There’s just something about her, about all the things that she’s not telling us, that makes me want to keep her around. I want to make sure she’s safe, I tell myself. That’s all.
Adam would say I have a savior complex and he’s not exactly wrong. I’ve seen too much bravery in the face of terror to let it roam free in my town if I can do anything about it.
Alexa is too sweet and innocent to be as scared as she is. She’ll be safe with Adam. And I’ll only be two doors down. I’m going to have to get myself a two bedroom apartment too.
We pull into the underground garage and pile off our bikes. Too late, I realize Alexa has absolutely nothing with her except her ridiculously large purse.
“Well fuck,” I turn to her feeling guilty. “We didn’t even think to stop back at the garage to grab stuff out of your car.”
“Oh, that’s ok. I have everything in my bag,” she pats her purse.
